Terrible Things. Dogs. Forks.

I have a dog. My dog is needy. My dog is a golden retriever. There are those who would say that those last two sentences were redundant.

If you come to visit me, my dog will love you. Whoever you may be. She's not very discriminating. Given a choice between a man and a woman she'll go for the man every time. She'd rather not have to choose, though. She wants everyone to love her. She will force you to pet her and she will whine and she will roll onto her back to demonstrate her submission to you. She will make sure your crotch is up to snuff. She will be very very glad that you are here.

She is not a very good watch dog.

Now every time she does this with someone new, I apologize profusely, of course. She is an embarrassment. I always say, "She's just so happy to get some attention. I usually just sit around all day poking her with a fork."* It's my attempt at levity. It's a take off on a Steve Martin line ("I do TERRIBLE things to my dog with a fork").

I have said it so many times that my kids have started saying it.

And then I saw this: **

Holy crap.

I'm going to have to come up with a new line, 'cause there's nothing funny about that one anymore.


*I have NEVER poked my dog or anyone else's dog with a fork!
** 'My' and 'FoxNews' are not words that go together in my house, but it was the best thing I got on my google search after seeing the story on the Today Show this morning.

Laughter in the Rain

For now, I'm going to refer to my Thursday stories as Tammy's Trips Down Memory Lane. That is not set in stone, so if something magical occurs to you in a dream (yes, I'm just arrogant enough to assume that I figure into your dreams), be sure to let me know. Till then, here's today's trip:

I love to take a daily walk. On a recent summer visit to Florida, due to excessive heat, the only feasible times to do so were early in the morning or late in the evening. As a committed fan of the sunrise, I opted for mornings.

The first morning we were there, I rose before anyone else and laced up my walking shoes. It was dawn and the air was filled with potential, as it always is just before sunrise.

I took a few confident brisk steps before realizing that on this particular morning the air was filled with a very specific potential. The potential for rain. There wasn't any threat of thunder or lightning, so I shrugged and continued. While it's true that I'm sweet, I felt in no imminent danger of melting should a drop or two hit my head.

When those first tentative drops started plopping down, the house I'd just left was still in sight. Turning around would've been easy, but easy is rarely fun. It's NEVER exciting.

So I kept walking - away from my temporary abode and towards I wasn't quite sure what. Once one gets over the initial indignation of being wet where one is accustomed to being dry, it's quite invigorating. I found my smile widening with every step. I started to avoid a puddle, then changed my mind and tromped right through it, causing big splashes as I did. By this point I was giggling and seeking puddles. I tried to work up the nerve to broad jump right into one, but my new found levity hadn't extended quite that far yet. It was fun to just contemplate it. And to kick my way through the puddles.

When I arrived back, I was soaked to the skin - nie - to the bones. It was difficult to undress because the rain had produced quite an adherent between my clothes and my skin. I eventually got them all peeled off and jumped into the shower.

More water falling on my head.

I had a brief flashback to when I was a little girl. We were camping somewhere in New England and had been caught up in a similar downpour on a walk. I had dipped my toe tentatively into a puddle and looked at my mom, expecting to be reprimanded. I never in a million years expected to hear what I heard next. "Jump in it! It's fun!"

Had that devil on my shoulder actually spoken out loud? He was getting mighty bold. I started to say, "Get thee behind me, Satan!" as I'd been taught to utter when the devil on my shoulder encouraged me to do things I oughtn't, when I realized that this time, the devil sounded a lot like my mom. My mommy. Mommy would never encourage me to do something that was bad.

I looked at her again for confirmation. She nodded her encouragement and even pantomimed a little jump. My mom didn't even get her hair wet in the swimming pool, and here she was, standing in the rain encouraging me to jump in puddles. My whole world was topsy turvy and I loved it. I jumped heartily. She laughed with a heartiness that matched it.

It was just a moment, but what a moment it was.

Fast forward a few years. I was in my teens and we were at the beach with a few other families, and it was raining. All of the kids were miserable and whiny. We were tired of reading. We were tired of playing cards. We were certainly tired of each other. We were driving my mother up a tree.

"Go out and do something!"

"We can't"

"Why not?"

"It's raining!" The obvious 'duh' that followed this was expressed through several sets of simultaneously rolling eyes.

Then my mother spoke the line that continues to be her trademark in certain circles to this day: "You're looking out the wrong window."

We - the teens and tweens - had been, apparently, taking the rain too literally.

We thought we'd call her bluff. We'd just step out and get a little wet. Show her the effects of the very real rain that was falling outside of every window, as far as we could see. We walked out the door, certain she'd stop us. She shooed us along.

"Oh, what a lovely sunny day!" we exclaimed sarcastically, making quite a show of being very wet. Then it came over us, slowly, but as a group, that we were actually having fun. And when this realization fully hit, we kicked puddles. We jumped in the pool fully clothed (we were already soaked to the skin - what further harm could be done?) We splashed and played, caught up in a complete lack of adolescent pretension. Caught up in a state of pure, uncut bliss.

We - deep breath, because I never use this word but can't think of a better one because it's perfect - frolicked. Yep. We frolicked in the rain.

Hey! Just like puddle jumping, once that barrier's down, it's easy! Frolic, frolic, frolic! We frolicked the livelong day away. We were actually just a little bit sad when the sun returned.

We saw people staring at us from inside their campers, shaking their heads in disapproval.

Oh, what we knew that they didn't know.

What my mom knew that they didn't know.

When it comes to rain, as long as there's no thunder and lightning (very very frightening) I've never looked out the wrong window since.

As Random As I Wanna Be

Some thoughts that have been runnin' all 'round my brain:

I'm a WINNER
I never win anything, but I won a Starbucks gift card from Melissa B. at The Scholastic Scribe. She has a pretty nifty thing going on, and you should check her out tout de suite. Thanks Melissa B! Now I know what it feels like to be a winner! (It feels much better than being a loser. I'd always suspected as much.)

Potter Time
I'm gonna NEED that coffee, 'cause this early to bed/early to rise chickadee went to the midnite (12:09, to be more precise) showing of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. Liv went to some lengths in her preparation and I'll try to get some pics up on the craft blog later today to document that. Those little witches and wizards have just grown up right before our eyes. And in this one, Dumbledore.... well, you know. And if you don't, I certainly don't want to be the one to tell you! The inferi were just as creepy as I expected them to be, too.

Too Old to Rock and Roll, Too Young to Die
Tom is auditioning for a new band. I love the songs he is playing over and over (and over and over), so I am loving the audition process. He thinks maybe it's time to get back to his rock and roll roots and I couldn't agree any more wholeheartedly if I tried. Wish him luck!

You Know Those Old Married People Who Start to Look Like Each Other?
I got new specs this week. The woman at the optometrists office helped me choose my frames. When I brought them home, Tom said, "Those are my glasses."

"They ARE very similar."

"They're not similar, they're the SAME."

We took them off and compared and - sure enough - my husband and I have identical specs. Is it sad that we're old enough not to worry too much about how completely lame that is? Maybe I should get us some matching jogging suits to round out the look. No one has ever accused us of being just too darn stylin'.

Gimme a Head With Hair
I need a haircut. A new style. A new do. The specs on this are simple:

- I want a style that makes my baby fine hair look full.
- I want a style that expresses my personality and makes me look youthful without making me look like I'm trying to be younger than I am. But it absolutely cannot make me look old.
- I want an actual style, but I don't want to spend any actual time on it on a daily basis. A sophisticated style that could be air-dried and finger combed would be ideal.
- I want a style that will look good when I take off the motorcycle helmet, even after a REALLY long ride.

Is this too much to ask? Why do hairstylists run screaming when I approach them? Rhetorical questions. Maybe what I REALLY want is a new hat. I'd need that hat to make a statement without screaming "Look at me!". Of course I'd need a hat that...

Do-Over
I want to retitle yesterdays post as "Mood Swing". Todays post is random and fragmented. Yesterdays was not supposed to be. Maybe a different title would've helped with the cohesiveness. Live and learn. There are no do-overs.

Greetings From the House of Hormones

My youngest daughter became very angry at me last spring when I suggested we take down our swing set. We don't have a huge yard and it takes up a nice sized chunk of it and Tom hates mowing around it. I was ready to see it go. She was not. She loves swinging and still swings quite often. I actually do love reading on the deck to the steady squeak of the swing set. No rush to grow up, Liv. Swing on!

And boy, does she.

Jumping off, she says, is the best part...

Yesterday we met friends for coffee at Barnes and Noble. When it was time to go, it was no small feat gathering everyone together. My friend and I had found our younger daughters but were still in search of our elder daughters. We asked the younger if they'd seen them. Liv responded, "Well I was with Lea and I gave her a playful little push..." at this, my friend and I sort of - well, in retrospect I guess we did sort of laugh at her.

"That cannot have ended well..."

We looked behind us and Liv was not keeping up. She had stopped in her tracks. Her face had gone full red and her left eye was twitching a little bit. "I SAID," she said, clearly working very hard to maintain reasonable modulation, "I was being PLAYFUL." Child was seriously angry at - us? her sister? the world?

Not ten minutes later, she informs me we've run dangerously low on feminine products. OH! Ok. She wasn't angry at us, or her sister, or the world. She was angry at Mother Nature. That made sense. Mother Nature can be a real bitch. (just ask Kathy B.)

So off we go to Walgreen's, where we face the huge aisle of monthly decisions. The Theme From A Summer Place was playing on the Muzak - or whatever we're supposed to call it these days. We agreed that it was a pretty song. Then Liv, my angry little Liv who, not an hour earlier had only just managed to suppress steam from coming out of her ears, burst into dance in the feminine product aisle at Walgreen's. It was a very expressive, arms out, leaping sort of dance. She did not hold back. Still dancing, and going into a little twirl, she said, "I feel like I want to be barefoot wearing a Sleeping Beauty gown and dancing in a meadow with a boy dressed up like a prince." There's a child firmly grounded in reality. She's not waiting for a prince. Just someone who dresses up like one. And what is it about feminine products and meadows, anyway?

I've told you about the paradox that is Liv, before. I've told you that she is a gentle vegetarian, tree-hugging speed-metal drummer. Ask anyone who was in Walgreen's yesterday afternoon and they might tell you, based on appearance only, about a skate punk ballerina.

I don't think we'll be getting rid of the swing anytime soon.

It's a Small World After All

No - this isn't another post about Disney. I didn't drink the water from the ride and trip. That was Lisa Simpson.

No, mine is a story that sort of begins with my friend Kevin.


That's him in the black hat and the plaid shirt.

Kevin works at the music store where Liv takes drum lessons. He thinks she's awesome, so I think he's awesome. We talk every Thursday while she takes her lesson. He has played with a lot of big name folks and he always has a story to tell me, usually backed up by pictures or a CD or an article in a magazine. Talking to him is surreal sometimes. I am very used to him mentioning names that are familiar to me, because he's played with a lot of REALLY big names. One day, a couple months ago, he did just that. We were a few sentences past it in conversation when I realized - hey! I didn't recognize that name because he was famous! I recognize that name because I knew a guy by that name - a musician by that name - in my hometown! I made him rewind to see if I'd heard him right. Indeed I had. The bass player in Kevin's band was the guy I knew from Youth Fellowship in high school. I didn't know this guy well, but we had mutual acquaintances, most notably his brother, who I ran around with a little bit back home.

Small world.

It turns out these brothers are both now living where I now live. I looked up the one I knew on Facebook. (I do love me some Facebook.)

Tonight I was reintroduced to the other. (That's him in the plaid shorts and the white shirt, in case you were wondering.)

What a fun night.

Of course seeing someone you knew thirty odd years ago unexpectedly is a trip. (Not a 'drinking the water from the Small World ride' trip, but a trip all the same).

That was fun.

But it was a fun night all around. If it's not clear from the picture, this was a little community free concert. People came out with their lawn chairs and their blankets and hung out and listened to music in the park. I was not the only person there who kicked off my sandals. Well, technically, I was the only person who kicked off MY sandals. Other people kicked off their own sandals. Other people kicking off my sandals would've been silly. And weirdly less sanitary than going barefoot.


The wee ones put on a show of their own. They danced, they ran, they rolled down the hill. Is that not an excellent hill for rolling? Slightly older kids practiced their cartwheels and somersaults. Older kids still climbed trees and talked in the woods.

A toddler with the sweetest curls brought Tom and I into her ball game. Well, she started with me, but when she realized Tom would play, I disappeared. She was an eye-batter, that one.

I have never gone to one of these concerts before. Expect that to be rectified.

It was a perfect evening - temperate with a warm summer breeze. (Which did, indeed, make me feel fine. Thank you so much for asking.)

The band was so good. There was just so much talent - Tom and I recognized the keyboard player as the bass player in a jazz combo we used to see a lot. One of the guys had written an Emmy award winning jingle. He has an Emmy on his mantle. There was so much diversity - both in the genres they played and the talents they exhibited. Several people played different instruments. Most of them sang at least once. Crazy talent.

To the best of my knowledge they all have day jobs.

And Nickleback are millionaires.

Sigh.

You Gotta Have Friends

My daughter and her boyfriend need to be reminded to make time for their other friends. Sometimes strongly reminded. Sometimes forced. It's tempting for me to chalk it up to typical teen foolishness, but that would be short-sighted of me. I've known women - teenagers, young women, older women - women who certainly ought to know better - who get wrapped up in a new romance to the point of shutting out everyone and everything else. To my great chagrin, I have BEEN that woman on more than one occasion.

I am one of those women who says they're married to their best friend, and I mean that sincerely. Of course I love my husband. Of course he sometimes annoys me (living with someone who is not yourself is always going to get annoying at some point, no matter how much you love them). But I really like him, too. That's what makes me lucky. I hope you're in the same boat, or find yourself there one day. It's good.

But it's not enough. No relationship - not even a really really great one - can satisfy all of your social needs. I find myself at a place in my life right now where I'm really actively seeking same-sex friendships. I want that girl time. I've spoken to this before, perhaps to the point of tedium.

A couple years (decades) ago, my sister and I held a party for my parents 30th wedding anniversary. She was pretty much a newlywed at the time and I was as single as a gal could be. We watched our parents arrive at the party together. Very shortly after that, however, Mom was off with her friends and Dad was off with his. They came together, periodically, touching base, but for the most part they had completely separate experiences. I remember saying to my sister that very day, "Well, there we have it. The secret to a long happy marriage. Spend as little time together as possible." We had another party just a couple years ago to celebrate their 50th. It played out in much the same manner. I remember thinking after that one, "How wonderful! Since they both talked to different people and got different stories, they'll have plenty to talk about when the party's over".

Yep. I crave my girlfriend time. I need my girls.

My daughter needs to be reminded of the importance of that. It's far too easy to get caught up in the throes of young romance (even when it's between older people!). It's hard not to get caught up in the whole 'you and me against the world' mentality. It's romantic and it's wonderful. But it's not everything - and when you treat it as though it is, a lot of important relationships don't get nurtured. Romeo and Juliet wanted to take on the world, and look how that turned out.

When I was a newlywed, I certainly bought into it. I think you're supposed to. Honeymoon period and all that. Since I was older when I got married, a lot of my friends had already been married a long time. They took separate vacations. They still took together vacations, but they took separate vacations, too. I remember thinking Tom and I were golden because we would never do that. If there was time off to be had, we wanted to have it together. That was fine for OTHER people, but we had something just a LITTLE bit better than that. Just a LITTLE stronger. Then it happened. Tom wanted to go away for a weekend that didn't interest me at all. I didn't give in; he didn't give it up. I cried as I watched him pull out of the driveway. We were no longer golden. We were just like everybody else. Soon thereafter I had my first little solo outing.

It was revitalizing.

It made things better rather than worse.

Who knew? (apparently a whole lot of people - but it was a eureka moment for me)

How do you satisfy your need for girl-time (or boy-time, if you're one of my rare and beloved male readers)? What advice would you offer to a young girl trying to figure out that balance (and not even sure she wants to)? How important are your friends (aside from your spouse) to you? Do you like everyone you love?

Talk to me! I need you!

You Always Knew Eating This Stuff Would Lead to No Good

A couple weeks ago I noticed that the Playland was gone from our local McDonald's. Shortly thereafter, their sign stated that a new Playland would be opening in July. As my kids have long outgrown the usefulness of McDonald's Playland, I didn't pay much attention. (If it doesn't directly affect me, it can't be all that important, right?)

The other day I drove by and their sign said, "New Playland Open!" I decided to drive around the front to take a look. This particular McDonald's is in the same parking lot as my grocery store and I usually drive in behind it. I know I didn't owe you an explanation, but I realized I was making it sound like I spent a LOT of time at McDonald's, which is totally not true. I don't even like double cheeseburgers. And my kids hate milkshakes. Ginormous Diet Cokes for $1? I wouldn't know anything about that. And it's none of your damn business, anyway, so stop judging me!

I couldn't believe what I saw.

Gone were the bright primary colors and happy statues of the old Playland and in its stead was this:


McPrison.

I guess the Hamburglar is tired of playing second fiddle.

The family and I started thinking of new Happy Meal possibilities:

- a metal file in every meal!

- an 'Oz' tie-in promotion!

- Madame Alexander Dolls resembling famous criminals for the girls and Hot Wheels resembling famous get-away cars for the boys! Collect 'em all!

Really, McDonald's. I know eating this stuff is not good for you, but as far as I know it isn't a CRIME (yet).

*** Lea took this picture for me. She said, "Wouldn't it be funny if we got arrested for stalking the McDonald's playground? Maybe they'd make us spend the night in Playland". We all shuddered and moved on quickly.